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Psalm 46

Psalm 46

 

A new world comes

And some would say

It’s here

 

By your hand, we might

Live in better days

 

The images we make

For politics or

Entertainment

 

Are wrung through

With shiny fakery

 

I think our new day

Will arrive,

 

Lord,

 

When we learn to say

I love you to the ground

And to the air

 

And to the wind we

Cannot see but truly

Feel and have:

 

When we learn the

Value of unseen things,

 

We can say I love you

To each other

 

Then your new day is

Manifest

Low-Flying

Low-Flying

 

Slowly the manta ray

Unfolds and undulates

Descending, like an eagle

 

Of the air, through

Updrafts of ocean water

 

What it seeks I cannot

See, because its urgencies

Are defined so differently

 

Fill hunger?  Slake thirst

That, in water, I cannot

Apprehend?

 

Or fly for delight in flight,

Ripping, tearing through

Sea currents, even while

 

Negotiating their fury

 

Can I fly as slowly as the

Ray?  Must I?

 

Two ways of asking this,

I know: Must I not?  Must

I not?

 

May I?  And, if so,

 

Will I?

 

How much of creatures’

Movements, I wonder,

Depend on will

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